America needs some other award, not for celebrities, but for the opposite of celebrities.

For the people who are never recognized. You see them every day. They take pride in their work and do it without acclaim. You might not even know their names, but they improve your lives, sometimes a lot, sometimes just a little bit, and most are anonymous. So here’s an idea:

The Anonymity Awards.

For that cashier you search out at the store, the produce guy who knows what you need. And that clerk at the post office, so efficient that when she’s not there— and you’re forced to deal with other clerks with their sleepy, “whatever” expressions — you almost feel like going postal yourself.

Or the teachers who save those extra unopened (healthy) snacks from the week to give to a family in need on a Friday, so the children will have something to eat over the weekend.

You don’t know such anonymous people? Of course you do. They’re all around you. Just open your eyes and see.

I bet you have people you’d like to recognize as well, like Mary Lou McCusker, who works at the Shell gas station at 47th and Willow Springs Road in Western Springs.

Six years ago, she broke her hip. At 87, she’s still working on her feet. Brisk and efficient, she looks you straight in the eye. She’s no-nonsense.

“So, if I understand the Anonymity Awards, it’s like getting a pat on the head for being yourself, for being an American?” McCusker said

Yeah, something like that, Mary Lou.

“Well, if it’s about recognizing people for putting effort into something, for doing your job, that’s good,” she told me. “People wouldn’t mind being recognized. But then you’ll have anonymous people waiting in line to get recognized. Still, it’s nice.”

McCusker was born in Detroit, worked as a nightclub singer in Chicago and then quit “because I heard about the casting couch.” She’s sold vacuum cleaners door to door, worked as a dental assistant and likes having a job.

“When you’re 87, Social Security just doesn’t cut it,” she says.

She’ll skip the Academy Awards on TV. She’s not a fan of the show ponies.

“The movies now are about killing somebody every three minutes,” McCusker said. “I want a good story, like ‘Casablanca.’ Is there anything out there worth seeing?”

So I told her about “The Shape of Water,” a film with much Oscar buzz. It involves a mysterious creature who has intimate relations with a young Earth woman.

“They’re all high in Hollywood now, aren’t they?” McCusker said. “High as kites. No thank you.”

Walgreens cashier Jean Boisseau, 62, is, in my mind, the best cashier in the world. She’s the fastest, with the hands of a violinist or a card dealer. When you pay in cash, she snaps the bills and counts the change aloud as she puts it all in your hand.

“An award for anonymous people? I love this idea,” said Boisseau. “For people that don’t get recognition, that’s good, because nobody really recognizes them unless something goes wrong.”

Of course she’s right. Most are recognized only when things go bad. Then they get yelled at or let go.

She’s a bit wily and loves romantic comedies, although her favorite Hollywood movie these days is “Black Panther.”

“I was born in Macon, Miss., and I never in all my life thought I’d see a black superhero,” she said. “Ever.”

She works at the Walgreens at 47th and Lake Park. I met her years ago at the Michigan Avenue store across from the Tribune Tower.

Jean, why do you snap the bills? That’s so old-school.

“Years ago a customer had new bills, and he said he gave me just a $100 bill. I said, ‘No, you gave me two $100 bills. He said, ‘No, I gave you just one hundred.’ So I popped it, and then popped the other one, and he thanked me so much and I’ve done it ever since.”

You might have an Anonymity Award nominee yourself, a Tom the butcher, or an Eleftherios the waiter. Or maybe people you’ve never met, like the chambermaids at the hotel whom you forgot to tip. You told yourself it really didn’t matter.

But it does matter. And you know it.

And what about the shy ones at your workplace who just can’t put themselves forward at meetings? They’re not in the popular office clique. They’re not slick enough to send out group emails that serve to kiss their own behinds.

But they do their jobs with pride, and if they’re not there, the place starts going to hell.

The Anonymity Awards aren’t about some golden trophy.

The prize is in the way you give them your name and ask theirs when you shake their hand. It’s in your eyes when you smile — not just a flash of teeth but a free, real smile — while thanking them.